HEADER ART BY JOHN JORDAN

The characters and events described here are fictitious and any similarities to any other persons or events, real or fictitious, are sheer coincidence. Eventually these stories will be edited and prepared for publishing.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Things Change

When she became pregnant things started to change. He was younger than her. He didn't have any children of his own and he was pretty sure he didn't want any. He wanted her to think about having an abortion...but, she had already done that once, and she knew she could never do it again. She started to pressure him about money, the Tripping on Acid business wasn't a big money-maker, so things were tight. He got some mundane job working in a windowless office and promptly flipped-out. He was in treatment for six months (to get off the weed it was said). He got out of the "facility" in time for the birth, however, and was filled with the pride that new fathers sometimes feel when he saw the little boy that fate had forced upon him.
She hung a baby seat from the patio awning overlooking the pool and put her baby in it. The boy would laugh and laugh as he watched his sisters and other kids play in the pool. The ice-cream truck came down the lane everyday. As soon as the kids heard the familiar melody they would run to find their mother and beg for change. With push-ups and star-bombs they would sit in the shade and consume their treats as slowly as possible. Lick by lick the frozen confections would disappear and then with sticky hands and faces they would all jump into the pool. After learning to crawl and then walk, the boy would run around naked in the backyard chasing the peacocks and playing in the cool water of the pool. He would climb the tangerine tree and pluck tangerines from its branches, devouring the sweet fruit by the dozens. Once, as he clung to the branches of the tree eating a tangerine, he watched in fascination as a wasp came buzzing up to him and landed on the end of his penis. Before he could react to the strange new insect, the wasp stung him. The searing pain on the tip of his penis would be the most vivid memory of his early years. He screamed as he ran to his mother, who could do nothing to relieve the indescribable pain. Of course the other kids joked about it and he was humiliated to spend the next three days walking around the gardens with his damaged member in a cup of baking soda.


The sixties were ending and the hippie culture was changing. Free sex gave way to jealousy and the drugs to paranoia. There was sudden shortage of mental health professionals, because of the many victims of statutory rape and sexual abuse. He wanted out and so did she, but they had different ideas about what "out" should be. She wanted to go live on a commune in the country (somewhere in New Mexico), and he wanted to fly airplanes, take acid and get together with more (and younger) women. He signed his interest in the house over to her, because he didn't want to fight about it. This would be his first of several failed partnerships with women involving real estate--She rented out the house to a bunch of heroin junkies and took the kids hitchhiking. "Oh well," he said, "I never wanted to be a dad anyway." The little boy wanted to be with his daddy, but daddy was far away...
She had a friend in San Francisco, Bliss, who owned a bead shop. She and the kids stayed with bliss while they were in San Francisco, she had a large apartment right over the Diggers Free Store on Frederick Street. She and Bliss prepared meals for 50 people at a time. At dinner time everyone would make a circle and hold hands. A bearded and long-haired priest named Father Phillip would say a prayer and then everyone would say three oms. Everyone would then sit on the floor cross-legged around the edges of the furnitureless room, and eat. After eating, several people would fill pipes and pass them in opposite directions around the circle. After taking a long drag, the boy's sister passed the pipe to a dark looking man who turned out to be Jim Morrison. He would often come to stay at Bliss's when he was in San Francisco. He grasped the pipe and took a toke. He passed the pipe to Father Philip who shook his head, "I don't smoke," he said. Jim exhaled the smoke from his lungs into the face of the priest and gazed defiantly into his eyes. When the boy asked his sister about the incident years later, she said "Jim Morrison was kind of an asshole." Father Philip gave communion to everyone in the form of LSD tablets, crossing each and offering them wine to wash it down in a beautiful hand-made, jeweled brass goblet. "Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood." He said.



A short time later a tall and handsome black man with a huge afro hairdo showed up and everyone became very excited. "That's Jimi Hendrix!" someone said. After a good deal of coaxing Mr. Hendrix played drums, while someone else banged away on an electric bass. The crowed got thicker as more people arrived and a full blown acid party ensued. Consciousness collided with reality as people started laughing uncontrollably. As the walls began to breath inward and then back out, psychedelic hallucinations unfolded in every possible way. Some stayed to listen to the music, while others went on insane expeditions into the night. Jim Morrison sat in a corner and wrote a song about Bliss. Hendrix left relatively early (apparently he hadn't taken any LSD). The boy's mother and her daughters made plans to meet later and went off on their own adventures. The boy was safe asleep in a room upstairs.

The first commune to be set up in Santa Fe, itself, was called simply The Compound. It seemed like every hippie couple or single mother had at least one child from their years of free love in California, and organized child care was a common theme in the first communes--they created their own schools in which they could teach their children a new way of thinking. This was a fairly free and happy time for the boy. He and his mother moved around a lot as they explored the still wild New Mexico territory. Long trips across the blazing desert in an old VW bus were a normal part of life. Broken down by the side of an endless highway, they tried to flag down passing cars. The the boy cried, so she fixed him a tuna sandwich on her home made whole-wheat bread, and gave them some water from a large plastic container. A car appeared on the horizon and as it neared she called the children out of the bus. "If they see children they are more likely to stop and help," she reasoned. As the car got nearer, she smiled: "Far out it looks like they are hip!" The car was painted in bright day-glow colors, it was badly dented all over and the right turn signal appeared to be broken. It was an american make--maybe a Chevy or a Ford Galaxy. Its occupants introduced themselves as Chuck and Breeze, two guys on their way to the Lama Foundation in Taos. Chuck proclaimed himself to be an expert mechanic, but he seemed a little confused and embarrassed when she had to show him that on a VW Bus the engine was located in the back. He fooled around with it but couldn't get the engine to turn over. He offered them a ride, so they packed up the contents of the van and crammed into the Galaxy. They left the VW by the side of the road and continued forth with Chuck and Breeze.


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Posted Comment:

Great that you express this. You are a warrior from the start.... What choice did or do you have.

You have done well - few warriors can express themselves and non that I know can build and maintain a WEB site blog such as yours.

Stay at peace - which you R.... I am merely confirming where you have been and you have done well.

Continue...
November 24, 2008 |



1 comment:

  1. Poignant and painful witness to a wonderfully dappled age!

    ReplyDelete

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